


Naivety

by Silvermagess



Category: Makai Ouji: Devils and Realist
Genre: M/M, Massage, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-25
Updated: 2016-02-25
Packaged: 2018-05-23 04:40:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6105193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silvermagess/pseuds/Silvermagess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Metatron decides to rile up Michael one morning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Naivety

**Author's Note:**

> Done for an anon request. Michael and Metatron are both characters I'm not as sure about when writing, but I enjoyed this and hope you do too, anon!

Angels are a lot like human children. That's what Metatron has often thought. Human children with far too much power and ego, married to pure naivety. Particularly in the finer areas of life. And half the others who come from the mortal realm like him were blessed virgins and celibates. Which was fine for them, but Metatron found it tiresome. It was rather trying to have gone from a warm bed on earth to a cold one in Heaven, the realm whose weighty air was full of light.

And then there is Michael. Michael who had joined the two of them together and made Enoch in to Metatron, making him immortal. Forcing him to watch the human world that he was no longer allowed to touch and be a part of. And he had the nerve to be so cold.

It was a particularly bad morning nap that was causing Metatron to dwell on such things and as usual, he decided to go and do as he always did: pick on the source of his misery. It did take a while to find him, because the old man was always, so frustratingly active.

But find him Metatron did, after brushing past an agitated flock of cherubs. Entering one of the palace's many solars, he saw Michael standing next to an over turned chair, a meal scattered on the table. His expression wasn't livid though, but cool and stone faced. Whatever little tantrum he had thrown was long spent. 

"What are you after?" Michael muttered as he flipped a hand through his hair, looking off to the side. Like a child trying to play off the scene before him.

If that was what Michael wanted, then fine. Metatron smiled at him, placing a hand on his hip. "I thought French omelets were your favorite though?" Personal Metatron preferred the sweeter type to Michael's more savory though.

Making a face, Michael shook his head. "It was under done."

"Ah…" Meaning it probably wasn't and Michael had just wanted to make some poor underling cry. And had failed, hence the pensive mood. There was silence for a long moment, with Michael looking at him out of the corner of his eye.

They stood like that for a moment before Michael spoke up. "Well?"

"Well what?"

Michael was looking at the mess on the table. "You know what."

Oh did Michael want him to play maid? It was an insult naturally. Metatron was a high ranking Seraphim. Such tasks were beneath him these days. Not that he minded actually picking up after himself or after others. But…

"I am afraid I am a bit lost," he laughed as he rubbed the back of his head. Yes, Michael had given him a great game to play.

Biting his lip, Michael's eyes flashed, the signs of a beginning fury. "Is your head filled with clay?"

"No," Metatron let his hand rest on the back of an upright chair. "I was just thinking about if I should ask Sandalphon to make me a Buchteln or a Stollen."

"You have more important matters to attend to then sweets!" Michael hissed.

"And cleaning up after your temper tantrums isn't one of them."

The moment of flustered surprise in Michael's eyes was matched only by the cold silence in the room and Metatron didn't let the hard look in his face pass immediately, even though he knew he might have over played his hand. The only thing staying Michael's dangerous fury was shock and he had to decide his next move quickly.

Picking the chair he had been touching, Metatron quickly brought it over to Michael and abruptly grabbed his shoulders and pushed the other angel down.

The reaction was immediate.

"You disgusting-"

"Sorry!" Metatron stepped back, holding up his hands with a light smile back in place. "I just thought you looked tired and needed a rest. You always lose your temper when you get like that!" And exhaustion was a constant state for Michael these days. Probably had been since the day they had met.

"I told you to never touch me!" But Michael had not risen from the chair, which was a good sign. Now to carry onwards.

"But my lord," Metatron blinked at him. "Surely you cannot be totally opposed. Especially after you hear my offer."

"What could you possibly offer me?"

"A massage," Metatron laughed and saw Michael about to speak and quickly continued on. "It's just that your shoulders look very tense lately and I have been told that I have the healing touch. Even Raphael swears by me!"

He could see Michael raise an eyebrow, though he was hardly protesting. However daffy Raphael was these days, when it came to healing even Michael was willing to give his opinion some acknowledgement. Even if he ultimately didn't follow the man's advice.

"…are you up to something?"

"Of course not. I just think it would be better for everyone if you released some of that tension." He waited a beat. "No one is going to come this way for at least several hours without prompting." Meaning no one would find out that Lord Michael had done something as shameful as let a former human rub his shoulders.

For a moment it looked like Michael was going to say no, flushing and spitting like an angry cat. Metatron wouldn't have minded, since he was here to provoke a reaction. Instead, after a moment, the Archangel sighed, leaning back in his chair, arms crossed. "Very well. But if you do anything weird…"

"You know I cannot do that." He couldn't do anything that Michael didn't want him to, so went the terms of their curse. Walking around so that he was behind Michael, Metatron rested his hands on the back of the chair. He could sense Michael tense up and laughed. "It won't work if I don't touch you."

"Fine! Just get it over with."

Cautiously, Metatron placed his hands on Michael's shoulders, letting his thumbs rest against the bare skin of his neck. The angel's skin was prickling, but it was still cool and smooth to the touch. Slowly he began to work his fingers into the tension he felt there. His shoulders were so small! This wasn't the first time Metatron had thought such a thing, but feeling it on the other hand…

"See, this isn't so bad," he said in a sing song voice as he slid his hands across those shoulders.

"Hmmm, I don't get what Raphael is thinking," the tone of voice was sulky, but he could feel Michael's shoulders slowly loosening up. Much like a shy cat who avoided your pets, but melted if you managed to lay a hand on it. They continued like that in silence as Metatron worked on him.

This close he noticed little things, the faint scent of wilted lilies, the soft way Michael's hair tickled against his hands, the serene bend of his neck. So different from the bitter old man that lashed out at the slightest provocation. There was an almost feminine beauty to him, like most of the Angels of Origin, perhaps even more so. Not Gabriel's rigid, pristine features though. Nor Raphael's rich sunlight presence. Or the cold, yet compelling force of personality that was Uriel. But something almost fragile. That he was being allowed to touch for once in his long life.

That had always been Metatron's fatal mistake. He became too caught up in pretty things, especially this person before him. If he had been more down to earth then maybe he wouldn't have made that mistake that ended his mortal life. And maybe he wouldn't have chosen this moment to lean down and let his lips ghost down against the crown of Michael's head.

It was only a moment and suddenly he was somehow on the other side of the room, his back slammed so hard into the wall that cracks were radiating outwards and pain was raining through his body. Stars were flashing through his eyes, but he could see that Michael was standing, livid and flushed red. Slowly, he let his body fall to its knees, choking as he did so.

Looking down, Metatron could see some splatters of blood. Damn, he really had gone too far. "That wasn't nice. Now there's an even bigger mess for them to clean," he managed to speak without slurring a single word. Impressive really.

"You filthy puppet! How dare you!"

Getting to his feet, Metatron shook himself, the shock quickly fading. He wasn't hurt too badly, not as badly as Michael normally would have harmed him. Interesting. It seemed he still had a chance to turn this around.

"Ahaha, forgive me. You just looked very cute! Like a child! Or a kitten!"

"Cut the crap!" Michael hissed and Metatron could practically see his hackles raising, his face still red.

Dusting himself off, Metatron thought on his next words. "Oh but you know I like cute things, Lord Michael."

Just for a moment, Michael flinched before holding onto his anger and Metatron knew he had caught him, even if the angry mask was now firmly back in place. These angels were really something. So old, yet so innocent.

"Who are you calling cute," He muttered, deflating slightly, then looking away. "Get out of my sight. And send one of the servants around to take care of this."

No. That was what Metatron wanted to say, because right now Michael's profile was very elegant. Confusion warring with… what was it? Pleasure? Annoyance? Discomfort? All those mixed feelings that Metatron had long since abandoned in his human youth were there. Yes it was very tempting to press onwards. But discretion won out for once.

"Very well Lord Michael. The matter I wanted to discuss can wait. I will instead take pleasure in knowing that you do seem far more rested."

Sniffing, Michael brushed a stray lock of hair over his shoulder. "Nothing is relaxing about you."

"That makes me very glad to hear," Metatron smiled, earning a disconcerted look from Michael. "Later!" He said brightly as he then turned and marched out. He had indeed achieved exactly what he set out for that morning and would hold that look in his mind for a while. And hopefully Michael would hold whatever it was he was feeling in his own heart. And remember that a son of Adam had affected him that way for centuries to come.

**Author's Note:**

> Buchteln and Stollen are different types of sweet breads.


End file.
